March 14, 2011

I've started taking some freelance work with my mother's consulting company, which brought me to an interesting governmental workshop on Fire Smoke. I sat in a corner of the rented Delta Hotel room and took notes while leaders in the field discussed issues and presented their personal accounts on the harmful affects of fires in the west. Not only did I have a few days of making some real cashola and got to pee in the fancy hotel bathrooms where you essentially get your own room and the toilet flushes for you, but I also had time for some excellent writer research and observation.

Oh yes, I am privy to the inner workings of the Air Quality Health Index and the wonders of Prescribed Burning... it suited my nerd sensibilities quite well. I also enjoyed watching grown men and women fall asleep at their tables during presentations, darting awake with wide-eyes to make sure no one was looking. And the free cookies and tea the hotel provides. See, being a writer allows you to live off the grid and partake in fields of life that you wouldn't have insight to. I search for money like pilgrims searched for water... with a wire hanger in the wilderness and just follow my instincts. I always end up in strange places that end up inspiring me. Now... I really want to write about fire!

And as per usual, I entertain myself during the slower times of the workshop by assessing the population I'm spending time with. I call this game, Apocalypse Now. What if these were the last people on Earth and we're all trapped in this Delta Hotel room and have to establish a new society? Being a young female I would have to procreate as soon as possible to save the human race, so I check out my suitors and competition first. I already decided there is one suitable sperm supplier - a mid 30's fire fighter who would make a good mate, as he's strong and attractive. The alpha male of the sexy times.

HA! Sorry... couldn't help it. And no. NONE of them looked remotely like this.

Then, I like to see who our leaders are. We've got a doctor and a few scientists, that's excellent. This is already a higher scoring game for survival then I've played in, lets say, the subway or the movie theater. Chances of survival there is pretty slim. But in the Delta, we've got a fighting chance.

There are a few youngish women, but no real competition with my fire fighter. C'mon. I'm superhot. However, if we became good friends, and I see that we could by their stylish boots, then I'd share my fire fighter with them. Occasionally. Just for survival. Since my mother is also in the room, I look for companions for her as well and find that she has a better time in this field. There are at least six men that could suit her needs; some men who are just good for the looking, others for emotional support, and others for companionship and laughter. Yeah, my mom's got it made in Apocalypse Now - The Delta Hotel.

Then, I look for the health risks. The heavyweights, the Diabetics and Asthmatics. Who would we eat first? Our society would be quite peaceful as we have a lot of intellectuals. However, there is one possible thorn in my side... this young deer-in-the-headlights student with her first government job. She's been hovering over my table like a weirdo crane, all lank and no chin. She's smart, but awkward as hell, with the people skills of a serial killer. I've already decided that her insecurity and stage 4 clinger status will suit well with the "funny guy" midlife crisis twenty years her senior who hangs around women like a yappy Chihuahua. Yes, these two will fall in love... they're perfect for each other. But what about the hovering??? It's bad enough during the Fire Smoke workshop where I have to run out of the room before lunch to avoid her, but what about when I have all these babies with the Fire Fighter and she's up in my grill, trying to ask me about breast feeding when the thought of her and Mr. Generic Loser make me want to puke? I've got SURVIVING to do! I don't have time for that. No... she has to die. I hope she has a heart condition.

And THAT ladies and gentlemen, is what goes on in the head of a writer. It's weird shit.